


Ever After

by Elfy (elfowlgirl)



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Gen, Inspired by Disney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfowlgirl/pseuds/Elfy
Summary: Who needs to wish on a star when all it takes is kidnapping a princess to make your dreams come true?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katrani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrani/gifts).



> What I've been pseudo-affectionately referring to as "the Disney Princess AU" that I started writing back on my Disney Cruise in July. It's also a gift for Kat, for all the work she does for STA (and also because she also loves Ashien).

It was what nearly anyone else would call a busy day - though for the technical ruler of the kingdom of Meathe, it was almost quiet. Serene, insistant, and completely and utterly ordinary.

And I hated it.

I had three meetings with an assortment of societies until lunch, and then half a dozen lessons that I knew I'd already heard before a dozen times. As Markus had reminded me probably just as often, even if I could recite half the damn things by heart, it was still technically my duty to attend said lessons until I was ready to be crowned queen.

Which was when I got married. Fucking wonderful.

I couldn't even overturn the damn law because even though the crown princess holds as much command of the country as she would as queen - without my parents around, at least - I couldn't touch such an important, integrated rule - one that had been instated back when my grandparents' grandparents' grandparents' parents had been on the throne. Or, at the least, until _I_ was queen. The rest of the nobility would see it as an undue vie for power or whatever else bullshit, and as annoying as the concept was, I’d rather not have a rebellion if not a coup on my hands.

So for the time being I was going to have to suffer through the same kind of Monday I'd suffered through since my father had passed - down to the exact minutes taken at the National Horticultural Society Tea.

Why they were important enough that I had tea with them every week, I had no idea - even if, admittedly, their flowers were very lovely. If it wasn't obligated I probably would've even called it fine.

The only - barely welcome - scheduled change to my day's routine was the absence of Firi. Firi, one of the only people in the kingdom - if not the only - who could deal with my unruly mass of hair in the morning had taken a few days off to visit family.

I tackled as much of my hair as I could before her replacement strolled in, and she took her place behind me. It was almost strange how easily she handled it. She was rougher with my hair than either Firi or I ever had been, and yet it hurt so much less and took half the time.

"You know, Princess," the woman murmured as she ran a golden comb through my thick, silver hair. It was almost ashen - if I had simply been named 'Ash' at birth I would've guessed that was why. "They say things in the kingdom aren't quite as luxurious as they seem."

"They've always said that," I replied, wincing as a knot in my hair snagged hard. Her choice of first words to me were interesting, I'd give her that. "Hell, _I've_ always said that."

"They say that someone plans to kidnap the next in line," she continued as if she hadn't heard me. "That they use magic and witchcraft, and that an assassin in the night is going to steal her away, damning the land to turmoil."

Where... where was she getting this information? She seemed so knowledgeable, so... oddly certain. Had we met before? Why was she telling me this? Why didn't I recognize her? _Who was she?_

The woman tied my hair into a loose braid, gently tossing it over my shoulder and turning to leave my bedroom.

"How... do you know that?" I asked her, uncertain. There was something about the woman that was strange, unsettling, almost... eerie. She glanced over her shoulder, brown-black hair brushing aside as her odd amber eyes locked on my own gold.

"Oh," the woman once more did not quite appear to be listening. "I was wrong. Midday, not the dead of night."

And then something struck me _hard_ in the back of my head, a stinging pain that rolled like a coming storm across my eyes, and a gentle darkness that enveloped me, cold and all-consuming.

The woman kept smiling, a cool, calm expression that burned into my vision as I faded into unconsciousness.

\---

When I awoke, it was in surprising comfort.

My hands weren't bound, my head only slightly aching from the blow I had presumably fallen victim to, and whatever I was lying on was soft like birds' down. It was almost the exact same stuff I was used to.

Slowly I opened my eyes - wincing at the pain of the bright light - and tried to push myself up and into a sitting position.

"I wouldn't try that so soon," a voice from nearby said, light and almost raspy. At first I thought it was that woman's voice, that it had to be, but after a moment I realized it was foreign to me.

My vision slowly cleared, the blurry world around me gaining form, and I almost gasped aloud when I saw where I'd been taken.

It was a library, or close to one - a large, open room with bookshelves that spiraled up to the ceiling, a glass skylight that filled the air with shimmering sunbeams, and a pair of open doors that appeared to lead to a balcony of some kind.

There were a couple tables, a small kitchen, some drawers and chests that seemed to be stocked with all sorts of things. In all honesty it felt like an almost surprising _luxury_ for having been -

_Oh. That's right. I was kidnapped._

Across from the balcony there were another set of doors, closed tight and with a heavy wedge set across them to keep them that way. A young man - boy? - with hair in a long blond ponytail stood before them. His clothes were simple and commonplace, almost oddly so. The only thing immediately alarming about him were his armlets, and when he casually adjusted them, he gave me a good, long look at the sharp blades hidden within.

He glanced to me, cold hazel eyes that almost reminded me of the woman's and waited expectantly for me to say something.

"You kidnapped me?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It's what I was paid to do. The witch is kind of a lazy asshole." He gestured to the heavy doors behind him. "I’m here to stand guard. She should be coming by in an hour or so."

I looked down to my clothes, ruffled and unkempt from my transport here but otherwise untouched. I immediately didn't like this asshole blond kid. "So what exactly am I supposed to call you?"

He shrugged, again. "I'm not telling you my name. Call me whatever you like."

" _Scath_ ," I said simply, the word coming to my mind in an instant, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "Uh, it means 'shadow'."

Scath nodded, and for a moment I thought I saw the briefest glimpse of a smile at the corner of his mouth. _So it fits, then. He must've been the one to knock me out earlier_.

I looked around the room for what felt like forever, not quite trusting myself to maintain balance should I make a valiant attempt at standing. An enormous basin of water sitting near the little kitchen somehow reminded me.

"How long am I supposed to be staying here?"

He shrugged. Whether he was fed up with my questions or just liked to maintain a permanent look of distaste I wasn't quite yet sure of. "Hopefully a while, if it'll mean I have a job for the next couple months."

My heart sank. Also I wanted to punch him - I very much wanted to punch him. But my endeavor to get up from my new little blanket-nest and do so was interrupted by a sudden pounding at the wooden door.

_Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap_. It was no doubt the password to get in because Scath removed the wedge without a question, making surprisingly easy work of something that would probably be too heavy for me to lift. He stood aside as the doors swung open and in walked the woman that had done my hair - and who I now knew as, as Scath had called her, 'the witch'.

"So you're awake," she said almost conversationally. "Good to see that my _friend_ didn't hit you as hard as I thought he had."

She cast a glare to Scath, who responded with an almost cheeky smile.

"You kidnapped me." I was blunt, tired, and extremely irritated. The witch seemed amused by this reaction, and I was already sick of her.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Her smile remained frustratingly cryptic. "It's rather simple. The Princess, already in the midst of finding an acceptable suitor, goes missing. A beautiful young woman with plenty of power and wealth rescues her, and she gains the Princess' hand by way of reward."

My face screwed up in disgust. That sounded batshit insane - and I said exactly that. "That sounds batshit insane."

"They're already posting rewards. I imagine it won't be too long until they grow desperate." She tossed a sheet of paper to the air, where it drifted lazily on the wind before coming to a rest at my feet.

"Two hundred thousand gild?" I mumbled as I looked at it, half amazed that the price for my return had been placed so soon - whether I was worth it or not was something I wasn't yet sure of. At least, I knew that to the witch I wasn't.

"Mhm. So I expect you'll only have to sit in this gilded cage for a couple weeks. There's more than enough to do - it could take you years to read the books alone."

"I wouldn't normally expect something so... nice. Considering you're holding me prisoner."

The woman shook her head. "From one prison to another. At least here you can fly," she pointed to the balcony with a thumb. "If you're okay with the hundred-some foot fall to the crags below."

She seemed ready to leave, moving to take a step away at once. "W-wait," I stammered, almost surprised by her eagerness of rid herself of me. "What's your name?"

The woman stared at me for a while, then gave a shrug by way of farewell. "Most simply call me 'the witch'." With a flourish, she was gone, and Scath resumed his place as my guard.

In an act of defiance I threw myself to my feet and charged to the wooden ladder leaning against the shelves, ready to inspect the books lining them for myself.

I wasn't sure how long it took; for all the room's amenities, it lacked a clock or a sundial or an hourglass - timepieces of any kind seemed to have been outlawed. But by the time the sun was beginning to set, I had looked through every book on every shelf and assembled a small collection of everything that seemed useful, or helpful, or interesting.

It wasn't a terribly large pile, even considering the sheer amount of books I'd had to browse through, but a majority had been on herbalism and politics and _magic_ and a dozen other things I had no interest in or even basic understanding of.

I was a princess, after all. I'd had enough politics to last a lifetime - if there really was such a thing.

The witch either didn't think to scour the bookshelves' contents before she'd enacted her plan, or didn't think much of me because there were quite a few I took note of. _The Princess' Tower_ ; _So You've Just Been Kidnapped_ ; and _My Fabulous Escape: How I Freed Myself From Jail_ by the _esteemed_ Dragons Aplenty, among others.

Scath had fallen asleep in the corner, never more than five feet from the door. Though his only movement was now the slightest rise-and-fall of his chest as he breathed, I still felt the undeniable sensation of eyes on me - he was no doubt sleeping like a cat, with one eye open, ready to pounce should I attempt escaping.

Or maybe that's just what he wanted me to think.

It could have been something other than him, I realized as I saw something move out of the corner of my vision. A bird that had flown in through the window? A rat that made its home here before I did?

My curiosity was sated when a small, white kitten emerged from the bundle of extra blankets that rested off to the side, out of the way of everything else. It stumbled, letting out a confused _mew_ before it looked up at me, glanced aside to the sleeping Scath, and leapt into the guard's lap.

Or, well, he was presumably an assassin, but the cat didn't seem to care.

It looked over to me with its single, wide blue eye, as if begging me to pet it. Its other eye was scarred over, three thin lines that ran across it and sealed it shut.

As I was unwilling to approach the sleeping guard, I awkwardly pat my leg, hoping the sound might draw the cat close. It simply continued purring, though, curled up happily on Scath's lap and I almost had to wonder if it was, in fact, _his_ cat.

The sight of them together was somehow exhausting, and I resolved to put off my book reading for tomorrow, collapsing back into my blankets and falling asleep the second my head hit the pillow -

Only to awake the next morning just as suddenly from a dream I couldn't remember, the tiny white kitten still curled up in Scath's lap. The only sign of time passing at all was the sunlight streaming in through the window and the beginnings of the morning's birdsong.

At least, I thought Scath was still sleeping - when my gaze landed on him again he was sitting there with hazel eyes barely open, though he was watching the cat and petting it as it purred delightedly.

"Is that cat yours?" I asked for a reason I wasn't quite certain of.

"The witch's."

Was everything here the witch's? The building, the books, the guard on her payroll - and, if she had her way, my hand?

I glanced down to my clothes with a scowl, unchanged since the fateful morning I was knocked out - a day ago, or even more. Everything was unclear, and the duo seemed content to keep it that way.

Even if I didn't quite feel comfortable enough to bathe, I knew I should find new clothes. There were a couple wardrobes, a large mirror, and in all her kindness the witch had a divider set up so I could at least get _some_ privacy from Scath's watchful eyes.

As if he could read my thoughts - or was at least following my gaze - the blond calmly remarked, "I'm just doing my job here, Princess. I'll leave you alone unless I have reason to suspect something."

"It's 'Ashe'," I mumbled. "I'm not exactly much of a princess right now, am I?"

He laughed. The bastard _laughed._

"It's not your name, it's what you make of it. Why do you think we refuse to tell you ours?"

"Because a name is enough to arrest you?" I recalled the old saying: _Names have power_.

"Or to drag us through the mud, at least.”

I frowned, and resumed my hunt for clothing, Scath seemingly having exhausted all he wanted to say. The wardrobe revealed a few not-quite-lavish garments, then some shoes to replace my worn hiking boots. The drawers of the dresser contained _only_ new clothes, presumably for me - undergarments, among other things.

Slowly I picked and shifted through what the witch had left for me. Almost immediately my concern was comfort because I resolved to not care what the witch or her watchdog thought of my clothes, and knew that they were the only ones who would be seeing me for however long I was going be kept here.

Escape had flickered briefly through my mind, but conceivable or no, it wasn't something to rush into. Something told me that Scath's backup plan if I made it too far wasn't recapture - and as much as I longed for freedom, I valued my life even more.

Soon I was dressed in something reasonable: vest over shirt, belt, pants and boots. It was more comfortable than the clothes I had arrived in, loose and meant to be worn by anyone as opposed to the perfectly-tailored apparel of a princess.

That is to say, it was comfortable at all.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was still in a braid but it no longer resembled one - the witch had done her job, sure, but my hair was rebellious as I now felt. Perhaps she had used magic to help make such easy work of it. I decided to ask her whenever she showed up again.

"Scath," I said and he looked at me. "Can I borrow one of your knives or daggers or whatever? I want to cut my hair."

He shook his head, but smiled. "I'm not giving you my knives. I'll cut your hair, though."

"Really?"

Scath had drawn a hidden dagger from somewhere, and I was almost held aback when he suddenly swung it casually around a finger. "What part of this surprises you?"

"Uh, all of it?" The cat on his lap leapt off with an annoyed meow as he stood up, then took a few steps closer to me. "Mostly you wanting to help me."

He held my braid and, before I could say another word, began sawing away at it. "I have nothing better to do."

"Good point."

My braid dropped to the ground and Scath gave me a thin smile, before wandering over to resume his post. The kitten made an indignant noise and leapt back into his lap, and though the blond loudly sighed he still resumed petting it.

"What's the cat's name?"

"Colvin," he said as it continued its purring. "He's a little asshole who doesn't ever leave me alone."

Colvin meowed brightly, glad to be acknowledged.

I picked the book I had left on the top of the pile - _So You've Been Kidnapped_ , it seemed the most relevant - and collapsed into a chair.

Only for my stomach to growl demandingly. I groaned.

"Time to see what's in the cupboards," I mumbled as I got shakily back to my feet. "Fuck, I have no idea how to make food."

The cupboards held _enough_ , I soon discovered. Enough for maybe two or three days worth of meals with my meager cooking skills, or a day and a half if I made some for Scath, too.

"You want to help me cook?" I called over my shoulder. "I have no idea what I'm doing but you can eat whatever we make."

To my surprise, he arrived at my side a few seconds later, inspecting the storage like I had.

"If you have no idea how to cook, there's not a lot _to_ make."

"I think I saw a cookbook on the shelves yesterday. I forget where, but that could give us _something_ to work with." I placed some lettuce out onto the counter. "But I'd rather try something now and go hunting for it later."

"A salad?" He raised an eyebrow and pulled a large, wooden bowl from the cupboard.

"It's certainly easy." There were carrots, tomatoes, onion, cucumbers, and a bunch of other assorted things I could throw into it. Oddly enough, there was also some sort of salad dressing. I didn't know what it was or when it had been made, but judging by the state of the vegetables, probably fairly recently.

Either the witch ate little and bought little, or ate a lot and bought a lot, leaving us with just the untouched scraps. The second seemed more likely, judging by the space she had available. I frowned.

"Is this the witch's home?" I thought aloud. "Where is she, anyway? Is she just going to leave the two of us here until she's done with this stupid plan of hers?"

Scath seemed surprised at being included in my complaining. "She hasn't told me much. Just what I'm getting paid."

"What _are_ you getting paid?"

He shook his head. "Like I'd tell you."

I frowned more, somehow. "Whatever it is, I'll double it to. Y'know. _Not_ kidnap me?"

He shook his head again, this time with a smile. "Ashe, there are some things money can't buy."

"Alright, you two keep your damn secrets. Gods, you're worse than Markus." I found a cutting board and a couple of extremely dull knives. They wouldn't be suitable for cutting apples, let alone initiating combat - the worst harm they could do was give you lockjaw. Maybe the witch _had_ thought this through.

"Here." Scath shoved me aside with surprising ease for someone of his size. He pulled out his dagger. "I'll cut the vegetables, you try and find that stupid cookbook. And yes, I cleaned it."

I sighed and did as he said. I climbed the ladder, checking where I'd last left off, unsure of _exactly_ where the cookbook was but almost certain it was on the third shelf down. Probably.

We worked in an odd silence, only broken by the quiet sound of chopping vegetables, the screeching of my ladder as I moved it, and the gentle chirping of the birds outside.

"Found it," I said, triumphant, as I pulled the book from the shelf. It had been on the fifth shelf, not the third. " _Two Hundred Recipes You Didn't Know Existed_. Although if I didn't know they existed I'm not sure how good they'll be."

Scath shook his head, though I saw him hide another smile. For a probable-assassin who had ruthlessly kidnapped me, he seemed a very... _bright_ person. Like he would stab me through the throat and be grinning while he did it.

The thought made me shudder, and slowly I descended the ladder.

"Here," he held out a bowl of salad to me. I traded him the cookbook and he placed it on the counter.

"For a kidnapper, you're pretty friendly," I told him.

Scath laughed. "I spend my time around whatever's most interesting - and you're definitely the most interesting thing around here, Princess."

Just like that, he was cold to me again. Even Colvin seemed a bit more menacing - though I noticed that the blond slid something from his armlet to give to the cat, who ate it up eagerly. And Scath wondered why the kitten liked him.

I took what he'd said as a compliment, I guess. Interesting... There were better things to call me, I hoped, but I could handle "interesting".

For the time being, though, I had books to read - and that new cookbook was at the very top of that pile. So I read as I ate, careful not to stain or otherwise ruin the witch’s property.

About forty of the recipes were completely and utterly useless for one reason or another, be it obscure ingredients I'd never heard of until that moment or surprising complexity that would take an entire kitchen staff to pull off. Twenty-five or so more were too expensive for whatever the witch would be willing to buy for us, and fifteen were too... _gross,_ would be a kind word for them.

So of the two hundred recipes I'd never heard of - at least the book got that right - there were about one hundred twenty usable ones. Not bad. I started bookmarking a few.

Soon I'd moved on to the assorted pile - sadly the first book was almost too short to be of help to me, and the next too long-winded. I was pretty sure the third was fictional, if not close.

In short, they weren't actually even remotely useful.

Despite that fact, I at least skimmed each of them, having given up on actually reading them by the time I hit the second book and its literal 6-page description of the author's nondescript prison.

I only realized how late it was as, while turning to the last page of the last book, I found my eyes were starting to hurt from trying to read in near-darkness.

Scath could have lit the lantern that was now burning nearby, though I hadn't seen him move and for some reason felt almost certain that I would have. After a few moment's consideration, I decided that if this place was magic, it wouldn't surprise me. Witchcraft was outright banned in many countries, and though that was not the case in Meathe, it was still not often a thing made public by those who did possess it. It was, much like immigration and other such things, a societal taboo.

Heck, to my knowledge, the witch was the first spellcaster I had ever met. If I was going to be stuck being her captive for however long, the least she could do was come by so I could ask her a couple questions.

Still, before I slept - and boy, did I want to sleep - there was one more thing I’d been meaning to check. I stood up and stepped close to Scath, waiting and watching for him to move as the floorboards creaked quietly beneath me. Neither he nor his feline companion so much as stirred, even when I placed both hands to the wedge that held the door shut.

I shoved at it, gently at first. Then, when it refused to budge, I pushed harder. I threw all my weight into the wedge, strained against it, teeth grit tight, and still it didn’t move. With a huff of exhaustion, I finally leaned back from it, glaring daggers at the thing. I remembered the witch knocking on the door - though I had thought of it as a password for Scath, maybe that was the secret to getting it open?

_Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap_.

From there I prepared to ram at it again - though before i could even touch it, I felt a hand on my shoulder and something cold pressed gently into my throat.

“That’s far enough, Ashe.”

It was Scath and his blade. Maybe he was curious if I would figured out the door’s secret - my first guess. That or he hadn’t woken until then, though that seemed unlikely as I’d done it as quietly as possible; my footsteps had been louder than my knocking. Regardless, my curiosity had been sated, and it was time for him to do his job.

My stance relaxed and, satisfied, he stepped away and sheathed his dagger. I rubbed at my neck, skin stinging slightly from the blade, though to my relief I wasn’t bleeding.

“Now go to sleep.” He collapsed back into his chair, and with a disgruntled meow, the cat once more joined him.

I raised my eyebrows in a look of amusement, only for him to ignore me. I shrugged, and found my way back to my nest of blankets. I had questions, thoughts, for the witch. Whenever she dare return.

 ---

It only took two days, and even then she arrived in almost the dead of night as if hoping to find me asleep.

"So," I said casually to the witch. "This place is magic."

She glanced absentmindedly to me with a raised eyebrow as she plucked a book from the shelf. "What makes you think that?"

"Enchanted lights to read at night. Magically refilling cabinets of food. A door that won’t open without a secret password." I looked back at her from my chair. "You're the first spellcaster I've ever met."

"That you know of," the witch murmured, still eyeing me. "We're everywhere."

"Is that why you want to marry me? Because then it won't be such a stigma to use magic?" I tossed my arms out to either side. "You won't even get to be queen because you have no prior royal status. You'll just be... You'll just be the _witch princess_."

"Better than the soon-to-be-Queen, never seen by the public and pushed around by the nobility." She huffed and took a couple steps back, looking me up and down and seeming pointedly unimpressed. "I don't _want_ your hand. I deserve to be royalty, I deserve to rule your kingdom, and I _deserve_ your hand. I can rule Meathe better than you or your family's past dozen generations have."

I remembered how I wouldn't be queen until I was married, how poor of a father the last king had been, how it had taken being kidnapped to break the monotony of the day-to-day life of royalty and found myself silently agreeing.

"There's a dozen better ways to do it," I replied, not quite sure what else to say. "I don't know what they are but kidnapping the princess you intend to marry who could draw and quarter you the second you let her free isn't one of them. If you'd kept your identity a secret this wouldn't be a problem."

She snorted. Once more, my infallible sense of humor had won me another battle.

"And besides," I mumbled, almost as an afterthought, "if that's really what you intend you should hang around more. Maybe you'll find I'm not as much of a pushover as you think."

The witch looked at me. It felt like the first time that she was truly, actually looking at me.

"Maybe I'll even find you're not as much of an ass as you seem," I added a moment later, when it seemed she would say nothing more.

"It would take you years of searching to discover that," she said. "If it were even the case."

"Ah yes," I rolled my eyes. "The 'pushover queen' joined by the asshole princess. Whatever would I do without you, Witch."

When I looked back, she was gone, and I was uncertain if she'd even heard my last remark.

It wasn't that I didn't like magic, I decided. It was a useful too. It just seemed that, if the witch was anything to go by, magic _users_ were unpredictable jerks.

I glanced to Scath, sleeping in the corner, and frowned. I'd completely forgotten to ask about her cat.

\---

She came back the next day, this time in the afternoon. Worried about forgetting, I hopped on the topic immediately.

I gestured to Colvin and the sleeping Scath, who seemed to _always_ be sleeping if he wasn't busy menacing me or helping make whatever food I could manage to prepare. In all honestly I was almost annoyed by how quickly I had fallen into my new routine, an easy schedule of preparing the day's meals, reading until my eyes hurt and then plotting my escape until I fell asleep.

And once more, it was only thanks to the witch that I escaped that monotony.

"Is that your cat?"

The witch didn't look at it, but she clearly knew what I was talking about. "No."

"So it _is_ Scath's cat."

"Who? No."

I blinked. "Scath. Your assassin."

"Colvin doesn't _belong_ to anyone." She looked at me and seemed beyond her usual irritation, once more speaking as if she hadn't heard me.

The witch paused, and seemed to notice that her evasive attempts at answers wouldn't satisfy me.

"He belonged to a friend of mine," she said simply. "And when my friend passed away, Colvin never left."

Colvin looked at her with his wide blue eye and mewed. He leapt out of Scath's lap - the first time I'd seen him do so of his own accord - and into the witch's, nudging his head against her hand so she would pet him.

"Awwww," I said aloud.

To my surprise, she didn't even glare at me, too distracted paying attention and affection to the happy white kitten. Her voice dropped to a whisper, voice so low I could barely make it out: “Thank you for taking care of him,” she told the assassin.

"See, you're not as much of an ass as you seem," I mumbled as I glanced back to my book. It was dull as hell, but at least it gave me something to do - and the protagonist of it was oddly familiar to me. "And it only took me a couple days to figure _that_ out."

With an accompanying irritated _tsk_ , my book promptly exploded.

"That was _your_ book," I grumbled as shredded pages began to rain down on all of us like snowflakes in a gentle wind. Colvin batted at a few of them as they passed him by, and the witch laughed.

It was the first time I'd heard a actual joyful sound from her. Hell, I was pretty sure it was the first time I'd heard her laugh at all, the only times she so much as smiled at me when she had fucking _kidnapped_ me and then later when she explained her plan _about_ kidnapping me to me.

The sound was... sweet. Oddly gentle, and almost unusually genuine. I found myself enjoying it.

And then I almost immediately questioned myself because she was the witch wannabe-princess who had, once more for the crowd in the back, _fucking kidnapped me_ to achieve her political gains. Why the fuck did I care what her laugh sounded like?

Despite it being neither my home nor my book I thrust myself to my feet, kneeling down to the dusty floor and picking up a couple of the pages. “At least she has a sense of humor.”

“Of course I have a sense of humor,” she said though she didn’t deign to look at me, still distracted by her kitten. “I’m surprised you do.”

“I _need_ a sense of humor to put up with the likes of you.”

The witch smirked. “Putting up with me isn’t that difficult, I expect. You’ll have to get used to it if this works out.”

“‘If this works out’,” I mocked her, trying my best to sound just as sly in imitation of her voice. “I still don’t understand your plan here.”

The witch looked back at me, staring long and hard with those amber eyes of hers. "Do you ever just have that thing that - that you _have_ to do? Like if you don't you're going to bottle up and explode?"

Without waiting for my response, she continued: "I was at the point in my life where I desperately needed to make a change - and, for better or worse, you were that change."

_For better or worse._

"I ran away from home," I said in a tone I hoped sounded offhand. "Once when I was six. I was back by the afternoon. Once when I was ten. It took a day and a half. Once more when I was sixteen. I was gone a little less than a week."

She raised an eyebrow. I was quiet for a moment.

"I am surrounded by friends, all of whom I'm closer to than any family - but I'm twenty-one and I was so, so close to running away for good, this time with or without them." Despite it all, I smiled. "Not that I think they'd let there be a 'without them'."

"What are you insinuating?"

I shrugged. "Maybe this is, somehow, good for both of us. I needed big change in my life, and you needed to make a change."

She considered my words, and then considered me. Finally, she spoke.

“You’re strange, Aesling.” It occurred to me that this was the first time the witch had said my name and not just snobbishly called me ‘ _princess’_. “You are very, very strange.”

It wasn’t an insult, which almost surprised me. It was at the least a statement and, if I thought particularly hard about it, it could’ve been a compliment. A _compliment_ from the _witch,_ of all people.

I was strange. I had to bite back a scathing retort because, when I thought about it, I was strange and for whatever reason, she liked it.

\---

My second attempt at escape was by no means much of an escape. Or an attempt. Or anything at all, really, other than me standing out on the balcony for a while, leaning on the railing and seeing what it was I could see. The ocean stretched endlessly before me, so far beneath the cliff the tower stood on that its waves were a muddled mixture of colors.

And still it was beautiful, the brilliant red glow of the dying sunlight dancing across the sea, staining like glass across the usual murkiness of the water. The horizon, where the sea met the sky, seemed almost seamless, bleeding color between the two. The sky seemed painted, and the water a dream. Somehow, it was comforting.

I was pretty sure I’d always found the water comforting, especially the few times I’d had the chance to ride in a ship across it. Like now, the illusion of a horizon seemed almost nonexistent, the waves that met it cresting just out of view. Going past the edge of the world, where you somehow knew that even beyond your sight there's _more_ ; more world, more water, more open air and sky and freedom. That the wind pushing against you has been to a hundred other places and is going to take you there, too, if you let your sail carry you.

You can see the land swallowed up by the waves, by the sky, disappearing into the horizon like it had never been there to begin with, because that's the only thing about the ocean that seems to change. The water is beautiful, cold, uncaring, and free.

All things considered, there were worse places to be held captive - back at the castle, you could only see the faintest glimpse of the sea from my bedroom window. It seemed like this was the witch’s home and if I wasn’t _stuck_ here, in all honesty, it’d be a pretty nice place. The books that lined the shelves were those I’d never seen in the castle library, and even as lonely as it was, a break from the tumultuous life of royalty was nice. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how soon it was until _I’d_ be free.

Not going to lie, it was a stupid plan. Especially for someone as intelligent as the witch, it was a stupid plan. My friends would rather scour the country over five times before marrying me off to someone they’d never met. Not to mention Meathe was a country in which divorce was legal. It’d be a messy process, sure, but even if I was married off…

Still, I had to wonder where Gregor and Markus were.

They were some of my closest friends, co-heads in my ever-complicated friendship circle, and yet they still hadn’t kicked the door down to rescue me. I kind of resented myself for that - being stuck as what amounted to a damsel in distress - but at the same time I'd pulled myself out of enough trouble already. It was something they were constantly trying to drill into my head anyway; _so what if I was the princess and needed help, dammit!_ It was fine to ask for it when I needed it! And yet here I was, where I couldn’t even do that, as much as I wanted to.

Maybe if the tower was magic, it was enchanted to stay hidden, too. I didn’t know where it was other than by the water, but surely they were scanning every inch of the countryside.

I had longed for freedom from the castle’s halls, from endless days of repetition and boredom. Though I was now physically restrained, at least I was free from that. Maybe I just had to think of it like a vacation. I spent most of what little free time I had in the library anyway; all that was missing were the servants, and the guards - if you didn’t count Scath - and my friends. That was the key difference here. Gods, did I miss my friends.

\---

“Witch,” I said, feeling both nervous at addressing her in such a way, and already almost regretting what I planned to say next. “Do you… do you think you could teach me some magic?”

Slowly the witch’s head rose from her book, eyes not daring to leave the page for a long moment before glancing over to me. I couldn’t tell if her gaze was cold or outright unreadable - she gently closed the book, standing up and immediately looking away.

She placed it back on the shelf, and something told me it was put back exactly where she had found it. From there, she walked clockwise around the room, placing her hand to each book’s spine but not looking at what they said, mouthing words I couldn’t hear.

“If you want to try, I’m more than willing to let you try,” she said when she finally stopped. “But I make no promises.”

Still not even peeking at the title of the next book she pulled it swiftly away from the shelf, letting it settle in the crook of her hand with an oddly practiced ease. The cover of it was a deep maroon, pages worn, bent, and yellowed, and yet…

I was fairly certain the cover of the book she’d removed had been black.

“A favorite spell of mine.” She flipped through its pages, many given no more than a cursory glance before settling on one. “I pull out a little bit of magic, then guide my hand until it settles on my spellbook. Only I can find it.”

“What, are you trying to impress me?” I raised an eyebrow. “Or do you just like to brag?”

She strode over to stand beside me and I set my own book down. “It can be both, can’t it?”

“...Yeah, I have to admit that’s pretty cool.”

She held open a page, and looked to me expectantly. “Try this one. It’s harmless and very simple, and will tell us both if you have the capacity for magic. If you don’t, though, then there’s nothing I can do.”

“What’s the chance that I _can_ do magic?”

The witch inspected me with a scrutinous eye. “One in twenty-five is about the norm. In Meathe, at least.”

“You guys really are everywhere,” I mumbled and stood up, leaning in close to the page to get a good look at it. “Are you sure this spell is _simple?_ ”

“What, something so basic too difficult for you?” She smirked.

“No!” I took a step back from the witch. “I’ve just… Like I said, you’re the first spellcaster I’ve ever met. This is going to be like asking someone who’s never touched a brush to paint a sunset.”

Evidently, my comparison was hilarious, because she snorted, half rolling her eyes when she did so.

I don’t know if there are words to describe how I did what I did. It wasn’t that I thought the instructions were necessarily difficult so much as vague and directionless. Saying to find and focus power, but not how to find it or where to focus it - I held my arms out in front of me and tried to focus anyway. After a couple seconds of concentration, I felt _something_. My breathing slowed as I latched onto the sensation, tried to keep it in my mind.

It was like… it was almost like a second heartbeat.

Remembering what the book said I gave a deep sigh, then opened my eyes and let the sensation flow through my veins, running from my heart to my fingertips, and pressed it into the world.

The library, once lit by candles alone in the growing darkness of the evening, became flooded with light. Flickering wisp-like apparitions flew gently in every direction, their gentle glow lasting only a few seconds before they each began to slowly flicker and die.

I had done it. I had cast magic.

The witch looked as surprised as I felt - though I noted with satisfaction that she seemed ever so slightly impressed by what I had accomplished.

“Well done,” she said simply.

“Thanks.” I laughed kind of nervously. “I didn’t expect to be able to do anything at all, let alone that much of anything.”

“Neither did I.” She smiled at me. “I told you we were everywhere.”

I blinked. “Oh, gods, I’m a spellcaster now, aren’t I?”

“Always have been and always will,” she affirmed with a nod, strolling back over to return the book to where she’d found it. When she pulled her hand away, its cover was once more black.

“You know,” I said, collapsing back into my chair. “They say… well, I don’t know what they say everywhere else. But in Meathe, magic is said to have come - stolen - from the gods. I almost wonder if it’s the opposite.”

Wordlessly, the witch raised an eyebrow.

I tugged on my hair. “They say that the royal line’s white hair and golden eyes are _blessings_ from the gods. Regardless of how they got it, we see magic as from the gods, too. Maybe everyone in my bloodline’s had magic as far back as our blessing, and no one cares any more.”

“It sounds like _you_ care,” she said, and I was almost surprised to hear the grin in her voice.

“Yeah, but I’m not exactly the most perfect princess, am I? Especially to you.”

I paused.

_Especially to you?_

I knew what I meant - I’d known it when I said it. And yet, despite it all, it came across entirely different than I’d intended it to. It came across like I _cared_ about what the witch thought. I mean, it was stupid to say I didn’t. Like it or not, I cared what everybody thought, even as much as I tried not to. But to let on that she was getting to me, that her words carried any merit to them, was a terrible thing to communicate to the woman who had kidnapped me.

I opened my mouth, as if to amend what I had said, but when I finally looked up, she was gone. I frowned.

“Stop doing that,” I spoke to the air, uncertain if she could hear me, only to receive no response.

\---

Pancakes were, oddly enough, one of the few foods I knew how to cook. Actually, it was the only food I really knew how to cook at all before this whole debacle. Oddly enough, I remembered the recipe more or less when it came to actually making them, so one morning I tried to make some for Scath and I. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the cabinets had almost everything I needed, even milk and eggs - no doubt kept cold with magic.

Except, to my disappointment, butter. The witch kept milk and eggs, and no butter. I tried to remember what Markus had said about replacements in cooking, then when that failed, skimmed through _Two Hundred Recipes You Didn't Know Existed_ for any similar recipes. I decided to add a little bit of vanilla, inspired by one of the recipes in it that almost vaguely resembled a pancake, and it suggested olive oil in place of the butter.

And so I set to work, doing exactly as I had when I cooked with Markus, and feeling distinctly lonely without him by my side. Strangely it felt odd to be making pancakes during the day, in full view of the sunlight. I was used to eating them in the library, moonlight streaming down overhead to read by or a low lantern lit. Trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the entire castle and yet somehow failing miserably.

I don’t know if what I had was really insomnia, maybe just anxiety-driven sleeplessness, but occasionally I’d find myself wandering through the halls late at night. I’d go through a couple books in the library, sometimes falling asleep on a couch there when the weight of unconsciousness all but snuck up on me.

Somehow, after what must’ve been a week in a row of it, Markus appeared in the library’s doorway. He didn’t ask what I was doing up, he just asked if I wanted to help with something, and I - for lack of anything else to do - said sure, why not.

He lead me down, into what I had first assumed would be the basement but soon found was the castle’s kitchen, located just below the dining room itself by a set of stairs and a dumbwaiter. There were a couple people still on shift there, cleaning up the mess from dinner a few hours earlier and working on preparing the workspace for breakfast, if not making tea or snacks for those working late.

He easily gathered ingredients, not stopping to ask their locations or double-check what he needed, and assembled them on the counter. When he finally seemed finished I raised an eyebrow. He smiled at me with his usual playful grin and brilliant blue eyes, somehow still wide awake so late - even me in my sleeplessness wanted nothing than to curl up beneath my blankets, the moon having long risen. “I take it you’ve never made pancakes before?”

“No?”

“Well, it’s pretty simple. I’ll walk you through it.”

To his credit, he did. We went slow, and he explained every aspect of the process to me - me, the Crowned Princess, who had never even visited the kitchens of the castle in recent memory. Maybe when I was younger, sure, but these days… These days _he_ was the one who was there if I needed anything, everyone was always there, and it made me wonder what other parts of the castle I had been content to leave unseen.

The others in the kitchen didn’t so much as look up. Even if they were used to Markus’ antics I would’ve thought my presence there would have been of note, as either a foreigner or as royalty, but they didn’t seem to care. I was fine with that.

It was odd to be proud of our end result, especially considering I didn’t really do all that much. We made four pancakes, and Markus gave me two, taking the other two for himself.

The first night we just ate them in the kitchen - oddly enough that seemed to be the switch that finally allowed me to sleep, almost collapsing on my feet as I finished the last bite.

From that point on, every time I found myself awake late at night, Markus would appear in the library doorway and we’d go down to the kitchen and make pancakes together. Sometimes we’d eat them in the kitchen, or a sitting room, or the library. Sometimes that was enough to ease me into sleep, and sometimes we’d sit there and talk. I don’t know how Markus was always there at the exact right times. Maybe he, too, was magic. Or maybe that’s just the kind of person he was.

I was pulled from my reminiscing as, in an explosion that would’ve made Kyr proud, the pancakes abruptly ceased being pancakes, the batter splattering across me and the entire kitchen. Markus added just a little bit of water to his pancakes as they were beginning to cook, and thus so did I - completely forgetting that, as I had learned from our resident alchemist in the past, water and oil don’t mix.

Scath snorted behind me, then apparently couldn’t hold his amusement as he fell into full-on laughter. I peeled some of the batter off of my face - glad that it was barely warm and thus didn’t burn me - and threw it at him. I started laughing, too.

Even if it was going to be a pain in the ass to clean up, and from there make another breakfast… I wasn’t going to lie, the Crowned Princess of the Kingdom of Meathe covered in the exploded remains of pancake batter was pretty damn funny.

\---

The witch was drunk.

It was pretty easy to tell from the growing blush on her cheeks, the faintest red tinge to her amber eyes, and the deadpan look she gave me as she entered the tower. Her steps were surprisingly steady, and if I didn’t know better, I probably would’ve said she was just tired. Scath eyed her uncertainly, the heavy door swinging closed as he resumed his post, but whatever his thoughts were, he kept them to himself. He didn’t seem to say much of _anything_ whenever the witch was around.

It was as if he were afraid he’d say something he’d regret - or maybe he just didn’t like her. The witch didn’t necessarily come across as immediately likeable, and Scath didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked people.

She wandered in, a look in her eyes that seemed uncharacteristically… wondering. Bemused, maybe. When she glanced up to the moonlight streaming in through the skylight, she smiled. It was, in all honesty, kind of cute.

She meandered over to me, collapsing into the chair that sat nearby my nest of blankets, and, after a moment, looked at me.

"Your hair is nice," she mumbled so quietly I almost didn't hear her.

"What?"

"Your hair," she repeated a bit louder, though this time she made it sound as if I were an idiot for not comprehending. "You cut it back when you first, uh, arrived. It looks nice."

“Thanks?” I said, mildly confused. “That’s… kind of you?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

She blinked, and then furrowed her brow. “My mind’s too muddled right now to remember. Why aren’t you queen yet?”

“Really?”

“Yes. Something about marriage? I did my research but I haven’t lived in Meathe that long.”

"It's a bit of a problem," I mumbled. "I don't want to marry but I want to be queen if only so I can have a bit of freedom - but I can't abolish the law about being married to become queen until I am queen."

The witch paused for a moment, and then snorted. "That is possibly one of the stupidest things I have ever heard." She paused, and then amended with a slight grin, "And I've heard a lot of stupid things."

"Yeah," I sighed, but smiled in agreement. Even though everyone I knew thought the rule was ridiculous, barely anyone had ever been willing to voice their annoyance other than me - except, of course, my wonderful friends. Still, validation - even from the witch, of all people - was kind of nice.

An awkward silence barely had the time to settle before I remembered another question I'd wanted to ask.

"Oh!" She looked at me with a raised eyebrow as I continued, "You, uh. You did my hair that first day, when Firi was gone. Was that magic?"

She laughed. I felt oddly proud of being the cause in her doing so, even if I wasn't sure exactly what she was laughing _at_.

"No," she said, still sounding amused. She ran a hand through her dark brown hair, letting it catch the dim light of the room - somehow I'd never quite realized how long it was, cascading freely down her back and barely reaching the ground, even from her chair. "I'm just used to it from dealing with _this_ all the time."

"You can't bring yourself to cut it?" I asked, and then realized a second later exactly how rude that sounded. I rushed to add, "It looks really nice."

“ _Thank_ you,” she said. She kept smiling, though there was an almost faraway look on her face. I realized, after a moment of watching her brilliant amber eyes wander, that she was studying me. A long silence hung in the air before she finally realized that I had realized, eyebrows furrowing. “You know. You’re almost cute.”

“I’m _almost_ cute?”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed once. “Maybe if you weren’t such a hardass you’d be more bearable.”

“I could say the same thing.” I looked back at her. “You’d be cute if you weren’t such an ass in general.”

The witch laughed. “I guess I’ll never be cute, then. Not like little Colvin.”

The kitten was at her side in an instant, mewling brightly and pawing at her skirt. She picked him up, looking solemn, and held him close like a stuffed animal.

“He’s pretty friendly,” I said, and she nodded.

“Kinda like the real thing,” she murmured, then seemed to notice what she’d said and scowled. As if to distract herself she held out one hand and in a conflagration of light, thin strings in every color began to stream from her hands, swimming clumsily through the air. Colvin batted at a few of them and she laughed. “Drunk magic is always fun.”

“Do you mind me asking a question?” I asked.

The witch smiled at me. “You already did. But sure.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t… It’s not like I lose my inhibitions like this. I don’t have many of those to begin with. I told myself I wouldn’t come here. I’m too open when I’m like this. Less sensible.” I was mildly amazed by her ability to pronounce the word ‘inhibition’, and her outright confession of her blunt honesty. Or at least willingness to say what she thought. “I tend to forget things, too, which is why I said I wouldn’t come here. Because either I’m going to remember this and regret it, or come in tomorrow and you’re going to remind me and I’m going to _double_ regret it.”

“You’re less of an ass when you’re drunk, too.”

“So I’m cuter?” She grinned wide at me and I shot her a lackluster glare, though it failed to deter her. “I’m just less worried about things.”

“Like what I’ll think of you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Kinda.” The witch paused and blinked. Abruptly, she stood up, the kitten in her clutches meowing defiantly as she set him onto her chair. “I’m… I’m leaving before I say something I’ll regret. I have a few things to take care of. Later, Princess.”

She vanished, but this time - for the first time - I saw her do it. One second she was there and the next she was gone, as if I’d simply imagined her. Too lazy and too hurried to even try and hide it from me.

I stared at the space she had so recently been occupying and, once more, frowned. _Later_.

\---

I was pretty sure the witch, well - she liked me at the very least. She had been surprisingly friendly when she was drunk, and I was also fairly certain that “developing a crush on the princess you’d kidnapped” was by no means something sensible. Maybe she was just friendlier when she was inebriated, like Thog.

At the least, I’d liked her the hell of a lot more.

I paused to examine my new train of thought.

The worse case scenario of this whole debacle was that I ended up married to her. Which was pretty terrible - and yet she was preferable than half the suitors I’d met. Hell, if she lightened up a bit, she could even be tolerable. She was doing this because she supposedly wanted to help the country, not for money, or fame - she claimed she knew better than me, which I almost didn’t doubt. She was a foreigner, too, which I almost questioned until I remembered the whole “magic isn’t a death sentence” thing about Meathe.

How odd that a country that prided itself on its nationalism also had a suspiciously high immigration rate in recent years. Not that the citizens seemed to notice much.

If anything, I admired her honesty.

I wasn’t sure how well it’d do her in the weave of intricate politics that seemed to surround the capital of every country, and maybe that was why she hadn’t taken part in them. Maybe it was her vitriol.

And yet, despite her lack of need to - her near-embarrassment, even, the first time she returned after her drunken visit - she continued to come. At first, we talked. Swapped the occasional story, or laugh. To say that I enjoyed her company… I don’t know if it was an overstatement or an understatement. It was a statement, alright, and one that definitely bordered on true.

Much to my annoyance, I kept finding myself glancing over to her, following the gentle movements of her hands as she worked, the concentration in her amber eyes that twinkled brightly whenever she found the slightest hint of success. The way she absentmindedly played with strands of her long hair, lost in thought. Occasionally looking at me out of the corner of her eye, as though she were thinking about me, too.

I shook my head and told myself that I was just curious, though about what exactly even I couldn’t quite answer.

That day, when the witch arrived, I found myself wishing I’d kept track of how long it had been since I’d first arrived here. I wasn’t quite sure why - it couldn’t have been longer than three weeks or so, I guessed, and yet it had almost passed by in a blur. The days ran together, the only clear moments those I’d had with the witch. At some point I’d found myself looking forward to her visiting.

I put down the salad I’d been half-heartedly preparing and went to greet her, only for something about her to send my steps grinding to a halt. There was something about that look in her amber eyes that I liked - that mischievous smirk barely playing on her lips. Her gaze caught mine as I studied her, and for once neither of us seemed eager to look away. She placed a hand on my shoulder, her grip warm and oddly comforting. She smiled at me, and there was an almost _visible_ tension in the air, settled firmly between us. For lack of much else to do, I leaned into it.

And then the witch kissed me. I didn't even know her name or where she was from or what her family was like, she was little more than the woman who had ruthlessly kidnapped me, and yet somehow beneath it all I didn't quite care. The witch kissed me and she was bitter like tea, sweet like honey, and stung with the spiciness of what could only be _magic_.

A second later she drew away, amber eyes wide as if she hadn't expected it either.

"I..." she said slowly, and I could tell the next words slipped from her lips before she meant them to. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I replied, feeling unusually giddy. As if to reassure her I gave her a smile and a nervous laugh that I couldn't help. My heart was stuck firmly in my throat and I did my best to ignore it.

She apparently found this adorable because she leaned in again and gave me a peck on the cheek. I realized we were both blushing, and this time _she_ laughed - probably at how stunned I no doubt looked.

"You have lovely freckles," she murmured as she brushed a stray strand of my silver hair out of my eyes.

"I do?"

She nodded, still grinning. "When you blush you do."

There was a snort, and I realized with a jolt it wasn't the witch - together, we turned to look at Scath.

He was watching the two of us with those cold, piercing hazel eyes of his, and I could tell from the look on the witch’s face that she had forgotten about him, too. He wasn’t sitting as his usual post, and Colvin was nowhere to be seen - instead he stood, leaning casually against the wall. He gripped his dagger and tossed it in the air, caught it, did it again. There was something unusual about the expression that had settled on his face. I didn’t like it.

“Zalvetta,” the witch said, and after a moment I realized she was referring to the assassin I called Scath. Her earlier amusement was gone. “Your services are no longer required.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and the knife spun twice in the air before it landed back in his palm. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Princess.”

There was a flicker of silver and the same knife was now embedded the wall beside me, having only missed me at all because the witch shoved me aside at the right instant.

Scath - _Zalvetta_ \- grinned. “Not really.”

Soon there was another weapon in his hand, so quickly I didn’t even see him grab it. We all stood in silence and stillness for a long moment, and I saw his grip tighten so hard I felt sure his palm was now bleeding with how his fingernails dug into it.

“I _tried,_ ” he said, taking a step towards us. “I tried so hard. I poured so much time into the witch’s harebrained scheme, waited and watched, did what I could to encourage _her_ capture but no, you two _idiots_ had to fucking fall in love. So now I guess I have to do the rest for you.”

And then, to my surprise, he cast a spell.

A roaring, twisting ball of blue fire came spiraling out of his hand, dagger in his grasp almost forgotten as the inferno all but _lunged_ for us. I dove aside and turned to glance over my shoulder a second later, making sure the witch had followed - only to get a face-full of heat as the flames consumed the shelf that had been just behind us, half the books burning up instantly and the other half brutally singed.

As we each landed roughly on the ground, I knew what had happened - a blast ever so slightly misaimed, not to scare us so much as… infuriate, I think, the witch.

Who, next to me, was already propping herself up on her elbows, looking furious.

So it worked.

“Not my library,” she hissed and shoved herself to her feet, her own spell flickering to her fingertips.

Zalvetta snapped, and a gust of wind tossed her against the wall with a sickening _thud_.

“I try to kill you and you only care about your _library_ ,” he hissed. “Not my motivation? Not why I’ve been working for you?”

“Alright,” I said as I stumbled back to my feet. “Give us your monologue.”

“It’s nothing so complicated.” He clapped his hands together, emitting a fury of blue sparks. “Magic destroyed my home, my family, my country - and all those who survived fled here, to Meathe.”

“The Great War?”

He nodded solemnly. “I ran the bastard through with my dagger myself. Your land and your laws only serve to spread what remains of their influence.

“Magic is a plague, and those who use it are twice as troublesome. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and if I have to drill it through your damn head to make you understand,” a spiraling force of magic slammed through the air next to me as if to punctuate his words, “ _so be it_.”

“What did they ever do to - “

“ _Does it matter what they did?_ ” His voice dripped with venom, and yet maintained an oddly steady, even tone. “Does _anything_ matter other than _that_ they did? The streets running red with blood and rebellion - and it’s all the fault of idiots like _you._ ”

Zalvetta looked me dead in the eye, and I saw something there. I saw more than what I’d first assumed was passion - I saw bitter, embroiled, never ending _hatred._ It was as though his gaze was one of his own daggers, though it wasn’t one that could kill.

He was going to stab me in the chest and leave it there. Let me damn myself if I removed it or if I didn’t. All he was was anger, and it was terrifying.

“First, I was going to let you live. Then only minor injuries. And now your body will only be barely recognizable.”

Once more I shoved myself aside as another blast of magic impacted mere inches from me. “Why wait so long?” I shouted. “If you’re so eager to kill me - “

“Because the guards are going to be arriving today.” His grin was wide at my look of surprise. “A fresh corpse? Fine. A spellcaster slaying their princess in front of them - “

The attack was too close. I felt the fire lick at my skin, singe the tips of my long hair - and then a surge of pain. His blow had landed.

My face was burned.

“Not my library.” I could hear the witch bristle, the first words she’d spoken since the fight began. I clutched one hand to my face as tears of pain welled in my eyes, my other arm held shakily against the floor. “And not _my_ _princess!_ ”

There was the crackling of thunder and a rush of wind, a sudden explosion of light forcing my single open eye closed.

I tried to think about what I could do to help, even when wounded, as they began to fight. I’d done magic before. Maybe this time I could help myself - or at least take some of the burden off the witch.

Each blow from the dueling duo was dodged or deflected, and around us the tower was starting to crumble. Broken shards of the skylight rained from the sky, and the air smelled of cinders and old books. The sounds of the winds and the sea were overtaken by the echoing chorus of destruction and decimation.

I reached for that second heartbeat I’d felt, slowly coaxing it into my fingertips again. I had no idea what I was doing, but I remembered a line from the witch’s book about _intent_ when it came to magic - that something so simple could make or break a spell. _Relief,_ I tried to communicate to it. _All I want is relief from the pain._

I let the magic run across my skin, hoping I wasn’t accidentally summoning a fireball or something equally drastic - and then, gently, I felt my discomfort ebb away, replaced by a dull tingling sensation that bordered on itching. Whatever I’d done had worked.

I pulled my hand away, now stained a fair bit with blood, and looked back to the witch. I didn’t even have a weapon to fight with - but maybe I could get one?

“Witch!” I called, and her amber eyes momentarily glanced over to me. “Give me a sword!”

To my surprise - almost - she pulled one hand away from her glowing purple barrier, letting a similar kind of light form in it. It took only a couple seconds to grow into a large ball of energy, and she tossed it to me, then turned her attention back to the fight.

I reached for it, and the second it made contact with my hand it took shape - it settled into my grip, blossoming like a flower from the handle, and at once I knew it was perfect. Perfect weight, perfect shape, blade the exact length it was used to. I passed it into my left hand as I pushed myself back to my feet, waited for a pause in the explosions, and ran forward.

Many of those I’d sparred with had trouble adapting to my fighting - coming at them left handed was enough of a shock to gain me a momentary advantage at the beginning of combat - yet Zalvetta took my first strike in stride, easily parrying my blow with just one of his simple daggers. As my blade slowly slid down his, catching its hilt, he suddenly pushed it away, giving him just enough room to slip under arm and my guard, aiming straight for my chest.

I leapt back, ducking to the side as he struck at me.

“Your anger,” I said, “seems a bit misplaced.”

“I should’ve poisoned your stupid food. Slit your throat in the night. I shouldn’t have given _her,”_ he glared sharply at the witch, “the chance to get this far.”

I kept backing up - the confines of the tower gave way to the cool air of the night, the balcony at my back and the dying stars overhead. Zalvetta followed, slowly creeping after me, gaze never leaving mine and weapon tight in his grip. Slowly, as he advanced, I moved aside, making a wide circle around him until the tower was now at my back.

All at once I ran at him, though he didn’t move from his spot. I swung low with my left hand, refusing to halt my charge. Zalvetta leapt over my swipe, much as I had expected - turning sharply I slammed my shoulder into his chest, and then the rest of me hit the banister, knocking the wind from me.

My feint-and-tackle had landed perfectly. The back of his legs skid across the railing, following the rest of him. I saw his gaze catch mine, that same radiant fury striking through me as I grinned at him, and the assassin Zalvetta fell away and out of view.

A couple seconds later I heard a heavy, muffled sound below. I dared not look over the side for fear of what I might see, and turned back to the witch, who was kneeling on the floor of her now-ruined tower.

“Well,” I said, now breathing heavy. I think my hands were shaking, and I dropped my sword to the floor - the second it left my grip, it disintegrated into specs of purple light, which gently flickered and faded away like the last fireflies on a summer’s night. “That’s one way to form a friendship.”

The witch slowly looked up at me, face unreadable, and then snorted. “‘Friendship’,” she muttered, and I could hear the air quotes.

I stepped close and offered her my hand. She gratefully took it and I pulled her to her feet, almost struggling from exhaustion. Both of us.

I assessed the ruins that now surrounded us, burning shreds of paper lying haphazardly across the floor. The stones that had once made up the outer wall - which I had never before seen - had collapsed, lying in piles across the grass and covered in soot and cinders. “Sorry about your books. And your house.”

She shrugged. “I’ve read all of them twice over. There wasn’t anything too rare, I don’t think. And that’s why my spellbook spell is so handy.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

I could see the sun overhead. I could taste the sweet air of freedom on my breath. Gods, I’d missed the world. I missed the world so much. The witch leaned against me, and I was pretty sure I was leaning against her. Supporting each other.

“Also,” she said after a moment’s pause, “why the fuck are _you_ apologizing? _Goddamn_ , Aesling. I’m sorry for fucking kidnapping you for a few weeks and nearly getting you fucking killed by an assassin. Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It was almost like a vacation. Boring as hell, maybe, and life-threatening, but I think I needed it. The trauma will hit in a while, but until then I’m riding this adrenaline. Also… are you drunk again?”

“Drunk on stress and magic, maybe.” The witch rolled her eyes. “Because I know exactly what comes next.”

The ground began to shake beneath us. The force of it knocked that which remained on the tower’s shelves to the ground, and the building’s stance on the edge of its cliff somehow seemed more precarious. At first I thought it an earthquake - rare, though not totally unheard of in Meathe - before I saw a steadily rising cloud of dust emerge from the trees on the horizon. Horses. People. Soldiers.

I knew they were soldiers when I saw them crest over a hill and further into view, their armor glinting in the brilliant sunlight. Flame seemed to dance across them as the sun struck the gilded metal, a wildfire - no, a _conflagration_ that soon split into a hundred individual pyres, then finally figures I could recognize as they drew near. I was surprised to see so large a force, but Zalvetta _had_ said they were coming. Apparently a quick “hey I know where the Princess is” was enough to summon a good couple hundred soldiers - although if he had provided proof of some kind, it would explain the apparent haste of their arrival. Maybe we were closer to the castle than I had first thought.

When had Zalvetta even left to accomplish this? I could’ve sworn he never left the tower, never let me leave his sight, and yet… Hm. Maybe a spell of some kind. For a spellcaster himself, he sure was bitter about magic.

At the head of the ensemble were a pair of familiar faces. The second I saw them - hell, the second I _thought_ I saw them - my eyes lit up and I grinned so wide my face hurt. Today was a good day. Sure, I’d nearly died, the place I’d called home for the last who knows how long had fallen apart, and I’d probably killed a guy, but by the gods was today still a good day.

Because leading the charge, running far ahead of the pack, was Gregor Hartway.

He apparently decided that, even so, his horse wasn’t going fast enough because when he was still a good way away he leapt off of it, sprinting forward at a speed impressive even without the armor he was wearing.

The other guards came to a halt about where his horse had, none of them daring to outpace their commanding officer. A few spread out in the beginnings of a lackluster oval-like shape, eyeing the pair of us suspiciously. I didn’t care. Gregor was here, and he didn’t bother with even a semblance of professionalism as he enveloped me in an enormous hug. "You're okay!"

"I am!" I laughed as I wrapped my arms around him. He picked me up and spun me once around, having a surprisingly easy time of it despite being only an inch or two taller than me in his armor. By the time he set me on the ground, we stood in an enormous crowd of guards who were all watching the two of us laugh.

They couldn't blame me, I decided. I’d been held prisoner for more than a week. And if they had a problem with Gregor, well, he was the captain of the guard, so I wished them good luck with _that_.

"Do you all... have to... run so damn quickly..." Gregor didn't give Markus the chance to catch his breath before hurriedly instigating another hug and this time dragging him into it.

"I missed you guys so much," I mumbled, and a moment later I realized a tear had rolled down my cheek. It didn't seem to matter because they seemed both on the verge of crying, too. Happy crying. Kyr would be proud - and I would no doubt be scooped up in one of his bear hugs the second we stepped foot back in the castle. For once, I didn’t think I would mind.

"I'm sorry it took us so long," Gregor said when we had all finally pulled apart. The second either of their gazes started to stray they would immediately move them back to me, as if afraid I would up and disappear right in front of them. "This place had all types of spells on it. We scoured the entire country and couldn't find you. A young man gave us a lock of your hair and told us what had happened to you, so we rushed here right away."

A lock of my hair. Of course. Of fucking course.

My eyes widened as I finally got a good look at Markus’ face. He had a black eye on the right side of his face, and judging by the color, it had been obtained fairly recently. "What... happened?"

"Oh, uh," Markus suddenly seemed embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I... am actually a spellcaster. And kept it a secret for the last, y'know, forever. But I realized I'd have to give that up when we started thinking that whoever had taken you probably was, too."

"And a week had already passed and you could've been hurt or worse, so I punched him," Gregor mumbled. "For not letting us know sooner."

"We made up and everything so we're all good now, though," Markus rushed to assure me. He paused. "We're... You're okay with that, right?"

I grinned and hugged him again. "Always."

"Wow, Ashe, you're not usually this hug-y," he remarked, though a second later I saw him try and fail to wipe away a tear without me noticing.

"It's been a long day," I sighed. And then, with a sudden jolt of remembrance, I pulled away from him to look at the guards, who now surrounded the witch.

I recognized a surprising amount of them - a good few were fairly high-ranking officers, no doubt picked in case whoever kidnapped me put up a fight, yet it was clearly a rookie that was now handcuffing her. The rest kept their weapons trained on her, ready to strike in case she tried to make a move, but to my surprise she stood there obediently, arms behind her back as the rookie clapped a set of glowing shackles around her wrists. Her gaze was stalwart and unwavering, staring straight ahead and betraying none of her innermost thoughts - or her thoughts at all, really.

Yet I saw her suddenly stiffen as the light on the manacles brightened, and felt a sharp sting in my chest when I realized that they were actually causing her _pain_.

I took a deep breath and let the witch’s words echo in my ears. _Never seen by the public and pushed around by the nobility._

Not today.

“Hands off and step away from her,” I said, almost surprising myself by how sharp my tone was. A few of the guards started, then scrambled to put a fair distance between themselves and the witch. Some looked smug, as though they were certain I was going to deliver justice unto her myself, while others actually seemed frightened. For whatever reason I thought both sides were hilarious. Maybe it was my racing heart.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I stepped towards her, a sudden silence that had followed my words, and amongst the hundred or so gazes, there were only three I cared about.

The rookie’s eyes widened as I drew close, and when I held out my hand he hurriedly deposited the key into it. I knelt down behind the witch and pressed the key into the lock, letting them fall with a heavy _thud_ to the ground. The witch wavered for a moment and I was worried she would fall, but she caught herself, and I placed one hand on her shoulder as the guards rearmed themselves.

“If _any_ of you try and hurt the witch,” I announced, taking a step so I was now just in front of her, “I will have your job and then your _head_.”

“Nice threat,” she whispered behind me.

“I just thought of what you’d say,” I murmured back. “The pushover queen gets a little assistance from the asshole princess and maybe stuff evens out.”

She snorted and I grinned.

“Wait,” I heard someone’s voice nearby, and a second later Markus appeared, peering at the witch before a smile spread across his slightly-battered face. “I know you.”

The witch looked at him for a moment, tilting her head as she studied him. “Markus?” she said, sounding incredulous. “Markus Velafi?”

“Inien,” he responded, and gave a nod of his head. “Nice to finally see you again. Getting into trouble, as always.”

“Like you were any different!”

So that was her name, then.

Sensing my confusion - or seeing it painted clearly across my face, as it often was - Markus gestured to the - to _Inien_. “Ashe, this is Inien. We went to wizard high school together.”

I opened my mouth, paused, and then said something entirely different than what I had first intended to say. “Is there really such a thing as _wizard high school?_ ”

“Not legally,” Markus responded cheerfully.

“I guess I never introduced myself, did I,” she murmured as though she were unaware of the fact, then held out her hand to me, straightening up a bit even though it seemed to pain her slightly. I was suddenly aware of how battered and tired I felt, and I was sure she felt much the same. It was also the first time we had… stood on even ground, so to speak - both physically and not. I never even realized that I was taller than her by a good inch or two until then. “My name is Inien, I-N-I-E-N. Known in this neck of the woods as simply ‘the witch’, as I’m sure you noticed.”

“I did,” I responded dryly, and shook her hand. It was oddly formal, considering all that had occurred in the past couple days, but it was a nice gesture. Maybe not setting us back at square one so much as mutually agreeing to put the worst of our history behind us. Hopefully.

Some part of me insisted I be resentful. Some other part reminded me about the kiss we’d shared. The rest of me was just happy it was over.

“Your Highness,” one of the guards said, now that our conversation had halted. I recognized him as a lieutenant. “This witch kidnapped you, did she not?”

“She did.” The witch looked at me. I glanced at her and then back to the guard. “And this is me, formally pardoning her.”

“You can’t _do_ that,” he insisted. “The amount of time, money, other resources we spent searching for you, the amount of laws broken, the chaos and turmoil your absence has left plaguing the country - “

“Do I need to remind you that I am the _princess._ ” It wasn’t a question. I stared him down, my golden eyes no doubt gleaming brightly in the sunlight. “And this witch has more than made amends by saving my life from someone who _actually_ tried to kill me. I have an investigation to start concerning the recent events of one of our neighbors.”

Gregor stepped up alongside the three of us. This lieutenant didn’t quite seem satisfied by my response, and a few of the nearby soldiers carried the same dissatisfaction.

“If you have a problem with it, _lieutenant_ ,” I said, and he seemed surprised that I knew his rank, “I would suggested you bring it up after I’ve returned to the castle with my friends and slept for a week. Though I believe _you_ were the one on duty the day I was taken, so perhaps you should rethink _exactly_ what the problem is here.”

My words were unintentionally punctuated as, when I turned sharply on my heel for dramatic effect, my exhaustion caught up with me and my legs gave out from under me. Gregor, lightning-quick as always, caught me by the shoulder and Markus moved to support the other.

“You weren’t kidding,” the blond muttered as he struggled to keep me standing.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Gregor offered.

“Just until I can get on a horse,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll ride with Markus and the - and _Inien_ can ride with you, Gregor.”

“It’s a short ride to the next village over, and less than a day’s travel to get to the castle. I’m sure with Inien’s help I could teleport us back. Well, the four of us at least,” Markus said. Inien looked between us and nodded.

In one smooth motion Gregor picked me up bridal-style, and the sudden lack of stress and effort ringing through my body was so comforting - even with the edges of his armor stabbing me in the back - that I almost fell asleep on the spot. I glanced over his shoulder and saw Inien take Markus’ arm as he helped her follow us. She seemed about as tired as I was, and I couldn’t quite blame her.

Gregor set me back down beside Markus’ horse, and after the blond climbed onto it, he offered a hand to help me up. From there I clung tightly to him, almost afraid I’d grow too tired to keep my balance and immediately fall over.

“Markus,” I said in an oddly low tone. I didn’t mean to sound so secretive about it, I just… couldn’t work up the courage to be louder. I watched Gregor help Inien up onto his horse. “What’s… what’s it like to fall in love?”

“You think I would know?” He smirked at my look of confusion, and then laughed. “You’d be right. Gods, I’ve fallen in love so many times and even I don’t quite know how to describe it.”

He paused for a long moment, and I watched him. Time and time again a look of realization would flicker across his face, his mouth would open slightly as if to say something, only to be replaced with disappointment and more thinking. I wasn’t sure how long I waited for him to speak again, but I didn’t think I minded. I was doing my _own_ thinking.

“Love is… love is magical and mysterious and inexpressible. It’s willingness to wait and watch and learn, effort and admiration and understanding. It’s passion and intimacy at a glance, and finally letting yourself, _allowing_ yourself to fall in love. Knowing that that person is, somehow, right for you and that you care about them and want almost nothing more than for them to care for you, too.” He snapped his fingers and grinned at me - like he had finally figured it out himself. “It’s a secret that you want to tell the world. Butterflies that flutter in your stomach and words that get stuck in your throat. _That’s_ what it’s like to fall to love.”

“Oh,” I said. “I guess I’m in love, then.”

Markus halted. Genuinely froze in place, hair even stopping its blowing in the breeze, before he turned all the way around to look at me.

And then he started laughing.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just… Ashe, that’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

He threw an arm around me, and while normally I would’ve shrugged it off, at that moment I actually appreciated it because it soon felt like I was going to topple over again. “If you’re okay with it, that’s great, and I’m happy for you. Even if it’s with someone like Inien.”

I snorted, almost instinctively going to ask _what’s wrong with Inien?_ before remembering she _had_ kidnapped me and all that other shit. By that point I was almost too tired to care. “I mean, I never thought I would be gay,” I began, then paused for my next thought. “But I never really thought I’d be straight, either.”

“Maybe you’re not,” Markus offered. “Maybe you’re just in love.”

I considered it for a moment. “Yeah,” I said, with a slow nod and a smile. “I can live with that.”


End file.
